Don’t be immature, Rebecca. Go pick up the hair tie.
I walk to the unmade bed and pull up the covers, folding and tucking until it’s nice and neat. As I finish, my eyes cut over to the hair-tie again; a tiny ring of fabric as powerful as a landmine hidden in Saudi Arabian soil. Turning away from it, I walk to the door and pick up my suitcase with one hand, my eyes on the hair-tie as I flick off the light switch and walk out the door.
When my eyes land on The Inn Bed and Breakfast, a Victorian mansion circa 1872, a deep exhale releases all of the tension from my body. Blinking up at the charming, immense estate, I silently thank Tommy for knowing exactly the right place to send me to.
The building is the epitome of San Francisco Victorian architecture with pale pink paint surrounded in white outlined detailing of windows and doorframes. Walking into the lobby, I feel like I’ve drifted back in time. The sitting room to the side is painted the same as the foyer, deep green, and has a gorgeous bay window and antique furniture; lamps, pictures in gold frames, sterling silver candelabras – everything from that era.
They assign me Room 10 and I walk into a beautiful room painted in sensually deep red with an opulent fireplace, an antique chandelier, a luxuriously decorated queen-sized bed and a private bath so charming I instantly want to put it in my pocket and carry it around with me everywhere I go. Dropping my suitcase where I stand, I walk forward, kick off my pumps and climb onto the bed, sinking my head onto one of the many pillows, falling fast asleep within blessedly magical seconds.
It’s a pity that the quiet my soul received from The Inn didn’t stick with me, after I left it.
“I’m going to give him one chance to make this right. Just one chance. That’s all. If he fucks it up, that’s his loss.” I turn the wheel into the parking lot, the car bouncing over the bumps and making me sway as I grip the wheel tight and keep my foot to the floor. I pull into a parking spot too quickly, and nearly take out the car next to me. Painful memories of Brendan and I race back and forth from this image to that, always landing on that bitch riding him just four feet away from me. “And me holding his coffee like some secretary!”
My heels click hard, fast and sure along the hospital tile, coming to stop in front of the nurse’s station on the third floor.
“What room is Annie in?”
A skinny guy with a shock of black hair looks up, surprised by my tone, his face half-lit from a computer screen. “Annabelle O’Brien?”
My shoulder blades tighten. Her name slides off my tongue like dung from a cow’s butt on a sweltering day. “Annabelle O’Brien? Jesus. Really? Yes. Her. What room is she in?”
“She left yesterday.”
I flatten my hand against my thigh, the other one holding Brendan’s jacket as I suck on my teeth. “I see. Thank you.”
He calls after me, “Ma’am?”
I don’t even look back, saying loudly, “I’m visiting Brendan Clark. I’m on the list. Rebecca Wells.” My heels click fast along the tile, unwavering.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Annie
Pants: black. Blouse and Flats: cream-colored. Nose: itchy from dusty books and floor cleaner. Police Stations really look like this?
Every desk in the room is covered in papers and there is a police officer seated at all, save three. As I look around the room, glad that last night I got a good night’s sleep in my own bed so I could handle this, it occurs to me that working in this dreary florescent-lit place must be a hard way to spend a life, working at gray desks and old PC computers, on cases where people do horrible things to other people. Yikes.
“He’s right over there.” The young, severe-looking female deputy holds her arm out, her hand pointing at Sergeant Lewis’s desk.
He looks up and does a double take, setting papers on his desk to stand as I approach. “Ms. O’Brien. You look rested.”
I smile and sit in the chair he motions me to. “I wasn’t sure how to dress.” I glance down. “I figured conservative was best. Why am I telling you this?”
He smiles. “You look fine. One second.” He looks to his right and calls out, “Mackey, get over here.”
I look over to see a deputy with blonde hair and blue eyes change course, turning to join us. I recognize him instantly as the cop I ran from, the one who was holding me away from Brendan. From the look in his eyes, he recognizes me, too.
“This is Deputy Mackey.”
“Oh. I remember you.” I am not sure if it’s appropriate to smile or not. They’re both so serious. This whole room is like that.
Deputy Mackey sits on the edge of the desk, and both stern pairs of eyes are on me. “So, tell me what happened.”
I repeat what I told Sergeant Lewis the other day and Mackey nods as he soaks in my story, while Lewis sits back in his chair. Finally, I sigh, “And then I came here.”
They exchange a look. Mackey considers me for a couple seconds, then says, “Interesting. Well, we have the gun, and the rounds fired from it match what you’ve told me.”
“Three shots,” I say, seeing it all again in my mind.
“Yes. Besides your prints on the gun, there was only a smudge of a print that wasn’t yours, but not enough to go on. We got the blood sample. If we catch him, that will hold up in court. The serial number was shaved off, which is normal for a pro.”
“Have there been any other robberies in the neighborhood?” I ask, looking from one to the other.
Sergeant Lewis answers first. “Not like this.”
The deputy asks, “Is there anything else you’re leaving out? Something you don’t think is important or…”
I look at the desk, then to my lap, searching my memory for missing clues. “No. I’ve told you everything I remember.”
“Try one more time.”
“Okay.” I tally off the details on my fingers like I’m reading a list. “He had a very, very deep voice. He was yelling most of the time. A mask, so we couldn’t see him. Well built. About 5’9” or 10”. His eyes were brown or hazel; it was hard to tell. Dark green, maybe? They weren’t blue, not like yours.” I point to Mackey’s eyes and he shifts on the desk, uncomfortable at having been singled out. Looking at the water damaged ceiling, I search for more, but nothing comes forth. “I think that’s it.”
“Okay.” The two men exchange a look. They’ve got what they can and that’s all they can do.
“I’m sorry. I wish there was more. Oh, did you find Brendan’s wallet, or did the gunman take it? I can’t remember.”
They look at each other, questioning. The sergeant answers for both of them, “We didn’t find a wallet. He must have gotten away with that.”
Deputy Mackey stands and adjusts his belt. “That’s fine. You did well getting that gun away from him. And you’re both alive.” My eyes fall first to the gun resting in its holster, and then to the wedding ring on his hand.
I look up, excited by a memory. “He was wearing a ring! I almost forgot! It had a bull’s skull on it. It was silver.”
The sergeant makes a note on the paperwork. “Great. This is good.”
Feeling hopeful, I say, almost to myself. “I can’t believe I forgot that. When the robbery was happening, I focused on it and it felt like it was huge on his hand. Like, it really stood out, but then…” I wave a hand over my head, illustrating the way our memories disappear.
Sergeant Lewis says, as he stands up, “Shock does that. More things might come up as the shock wears off. Please call us if they do.”
“Of course.” I rise, too, and shake both their hands. “Thank you. And thank you for coming so quickly that night. I look around here and I just can’t imagine what you must have to deal with all day. I really want to thank you.”
Their faces change under the show of appreciation; they don’t know what to do with it at first. “You’re welcome,” Deputy Mackey says. The sergeant lets him have the last word, and just nods.
When I get inside my car, I lock the door and sit in silence. My hands are on the
wheel at two and ten. The music is off. I have no idea where to go now. So much has happened. Should I go home and get some sleep? Probably.
Careful to look in both directions (I am surrounded by people who could give me a ticket) I pull out and head for the exit, wondering which direction to go. Home is to the left.
So I turn right.
The only place I want to be, is in Room 323.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rebecca
Room 323.
Swinging the door open, I stride in and quickly survey the room. There’s a new vase of flowers. He’s sleeping. How men can sleep when our worlds are collapsing is beyond me. I click over to the flowers and yank out the card, expecting to see her name.
Get Well Soon! - Location Times Three.
“Brendan!”
His eyes fly open and he turns his head. Blinking away sleep, he sees me shoving the card back into the large bouquet and correctly ascertains that I am not happy. He rises up to sitting. “You came back. Rebecca, look…”
“Uh-uh. I speak. You listen.” I toss his jacket on that stupid fucking excuse for a chair and watch his eyes following it, gathering what its existence means: his phone is in there. Well, he’ll have to wait for it.
“How do you think it felt for me to see what I saw? Here I am, sitting by you, holding your hand and treating you like – oh, I don’t know – someone who just got SHOT? But then, no! I’m Brendan and I’m going to fuck the girl who owns the bar the second Rebecca leaves. Is that what was happening the night of the shooting, Brendan? Were you fucking that girl that night and didn’t tell me? Because I have a feeling you left out that very important detail.”
He’s staring at me with eyes like cold glass, his jaw tight, hands clenched into fists holding the hospital blanket. “I told you a long time ago not to get attached.”
My spine snaps straight as my demeanor and voice go deathly calm. “Don’t get attached, Rebecca. This is as far as this will ever go. But I’ll treat you right…”
His eyes flicker at his speech repeated back to him. “I have treated you right.”
“I drove all the way from Arizona!”
“Except for then,” he says slowly, over me, making me stop. He holds out his hand, palm hovering above his lap. “I didn’t treat you right yesterday. I fucked up. I’m sorry. And I know it must have been awful for you. I never wanted to see that look I saw in your eyes. I don’t know why I did it.”
I shift my weight from one heel to the other, deflated in the way only I’m sorry can do.
“It was really awful. It was beyond awful.” Instantly, I’m thinking of my date with Tommy tonight. I cock my chin to the side in defiance. “How’d you feel if I did that to you?”
Silence hangs between us as I wait.
His eyes go dead and he looks at me like he hopes I understand. “I never wanted to hurt you…”
My stomach flips over as tears spring to my eyes. “Oh my God. I know that tone. You can’t be saying what I think you’re about to.” I step back, trying not to fall under the weight of the realization as I choke, “God dammit Brendan. You’re saying it’s over… You’re falling in love with that girl?!”
He looks away and makes a face like what I’m saying is impossible. “I just met her.”
I laugh, the sound awful and pained. “You think that matters? Take it from a woman who’s been around longer than you. It can happen in a second.”
He straightens his shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ha! I could say the same to you.” I walk to the door, defeated. “Don’t call me ever again. I mean it.” He stares at me. With my hand on the door, I stop. “I have a date tonight, by the way.”
“Here in the city?” His jaw tightens.
I hold his eyes and say with the coolness of one who has the last blade with which to slice her opponent down. “Here in the city.”
“I can only guess who that might be with.”
“Oh?” I smile, my mouth tight. “Who?”
Brendan looks away to the window, but the curtains are closed so he looks back, his eyes scorching. “That’s how you want to play this? So much for trust.”
My stomach twists with shame, but I revolt against it the moment I remember. “You know, I hate it when you men do that. Twist something so we feel like we’re the ones who are crazy – like we’re the ones at fault. Trust?? How dare you say that to me after what you pulled? I’m going to have a drink with someone who makes me feel important. Deal with it.”
He sneers, shaking his head at the image he knows is reality lying in wait. “That had better be where it ends, Rebecca.”
“Or what? You’ll walk in on me with his dick inside me?”
Brendan’s eyes steel. “Nice. Very classy. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You are meaning to hurt me. There’s a difference.”
“I can’t hurt someone who doesn’t care.” I swing open the door and leave.
“I do care!” he yells, the sound muffled through the door.
Stopping, I try to catch my breath, my vision spiraling red. I should keep walking. I won’t get what I want, here. But against everything my mind is screaming, my heart can’t help but turn my feet around. I open the door and look at him, tears falling down my cheeks. “Then stop me. Tell me not to go.”
He glares at me from his bed, his legs drawn up and his wrists on his knees. Was he about to get up and come after me?
“I don’t play games!”
“I deserve better than this, Brendan. You know I do.”
“You think Tommy can give that to you? I won’t let you do it. I’m going to call him and tell him not to see you. I mean it. Whatever you’re planning, it’s off.”
Through pained laugher, I wipe the wetness from my cheeks. “Did you ever see a future with us?”
In his eyes is a torrent of resistance, but he manages to say, “I did, yes. But not the future society sees. Something different. I don’t know.” He blinks, and for the first time I see the hurt. It draws me forward. I walk closer and look into his eyes, leaning down to kiss him. His lips open and he responds, reaching up his left hand to hold my head and press me closer to him. But then he stops and pulls back, releases me. I straighten up, looking at him, openly crying as he looks at me.
“You can’t even kiss me anymore. You’ve fallen in love. And what’s sad is you can’t admit it.”
His eyes flash and I leave, my heels clicking me away from him beneath unsteady ankles and weakened knees. Outside in the corridor, I wait for him to call my name. To stop me. To ask me to forgive him. Something. Anything.
When I get to the elevator, I realize it’s never going to happen. And I push the button… going down.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brendan
Wound: stretching painfully as I get out of bed too fast. Feet: hitting the tile with a slap. Racing: not after her.
I retrieve my jacket, yanking it off the chair with the wrong arm, pissed. I cringe and groan in pain again, and hold a moment to sense if I pulled out the sutures or not. Satisfied, with my eyes on the door and thinking about what she said, I reach into my pocket for my phone. There’s not one preview message on the screen, which means only one thing: Rebecca opened my phone. She knows the password, apparently. The screen should be filled with messages, and the battery should be dead. I key in the password and look at the battery. Not only did she open the phone, but she charged it. Should I thank her or throw this at her head? Unbelievable.
The numbers next to the icons of voicemail, text and email, are staggering. Clicking the phone icon, curiosity makes me check the outgoing calls and I see one from Tommy and one incoming, too. Fuck. Rage pounds adrenaline into my veins, like I’m on fire. I cut my eyes to the door again, considering going after her. But something stops me. What would I say to her? Come back? I don’t want to say that.
But fuck me if I’ll let Tommy hurt her.
He answers after the first ring, “How’d you like The Inn?”
<
br /> “This is Brendan.”
A heavy beat of silence, then, “Hey B-man. Good to hear your voice.”
“Leave her alone, Tommy.” Silence. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. She was just here.”
Silence again. He’s thinking how to block me, how to counter. But I’ve got him off guard, coming at him with an aggressive front kick he can’t get away from.
I wait.
And I wait.
Finally, he says, in a cool, measured tone, “Rebecca’s a big girl. She can do who she wants.”
It’s like rusty nails are slicing into my veins. “Leave. Her. Alone.”
“Come on! Lighten up. I won’t touch her, B-man, if that’s what you want. We’re friends, right?”
“I mean it, Tommy.”
“Brendan, I hear you. I won’t touch her.” My eyes fall on the flowers the agency sent me. Tommy and I have to work together. If he doesn’t keep his word, I’ll punch him in the face the second I clock in. I do have that as a consolation.
So I say, “We’re having a thing right now. You know how women are,” listening for his reaction, anything that might earn my trust.
“Yeah. They’re nuts, right? Well, you know what? I respect Rebecca. You know that.”
He waits for me to agree, and even though I do know it – remembering how I caught him looking at her at the softball game – I don’t speak.
So he laughs again. “Okay. I get it. You’re protective of her and guys don’t violate the guy-code. I won’t touch her. I won’t see her. I promise. We good?”
Reaching Hearts: Hearts Series Book 2 Page 11